


American Booty

by Alexicon



Series: marvel works [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Steve Rogers' Patriotic Posterior, What's a little ogling between friends?, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:48:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4563468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexicon/pseuds/Alexicon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, Steve Rogers wore yoga pants. All in all, it was a very good day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	American Booty

**Author's Note:**

> This grew when I saw [a magazine](http://lexiconallie.tumblr.com/post/126572753518/of-course-i-had-to-write-stucky-fic-after-seeing) entitled "American Booty: They've survived the Civil War. The San Francisco quake. The _Titanic_. But can Levi's beat back...yoga pants?" Obviously, I had to Stucky it. And the answer is no: even Captain America is wearing yoga pants these days, and he looks _fiiine_.

Natasha was the first one who noticed, of course. She happened to be the one facing the elevator when Steve jogged in, still full of energy even after his morning workout, and started drinking milk straight out of the carton like the calciumless heathen he was. She tapped Clint on the hand and, when he squinted at her bemusedly, gestured to Steve.

“Holy shit,” Barton whispered, and dropped his spoon. His eyes zeroed on the one place anyone’s would have at that point: Steve Rogers’ all-American butt. Steve, as it turned out, was wearing yoga pants today with his typical insanely tight t-shirt and sneakers.

Natasha waved a hand in front of his face and sighed when this failed to get his attention. Instead of gesturing again, she drove a fingernail into the back of his hand and then started signing when he finally tore his eyes away from the America’s Best Posterior award-winner.

 _Are you impressed?_ Natasha asked, smirking.

“You’re a very cruel woman,” Clint replied in admiration. “Did you do this?”

 _I can’t take credit for this, unfortunately,_ she said, letting her eyes fall in false bashfulness. _Neither can anyone else, though. This is all him._

“I can see that,” Clint murmured, waggling his eyebrows significantly.

Steve dropped the empty milk bottle in the trash and stared at them pointedly with an amused twist to his lips.

“You guys know I know sign language, right?” he said. “And I can hear you. Kitchen’s not that big. What did I do this time? Is it the shirts again?”

“Yes,” Natasha said, shamelessly lying without blinking an eye. “It’s the shirt. It’s too tight. I’m sorry, you’re just going to have to take it off.”

Steve laughed. “So, not the shirt, then. Good to know. Oh, is it the pants? They’re new, do you like ‘em? Sam thought it would be funny to trick me into joining a yoga class and then clammed up when I asked where to buy those pants everyone was wearing. Good thing I… have absolutely no idea what Google is. Hello, Tony!”

(Natasha and Clint kept perfectly straight faces in response to these last two sentences, as usual. This particular prank had been going on for about a year. Tony suspected something, but JARVIS managed to scramble the IP addresses of all Steve’s devices when he used the internet so that Tony was unable to prove anything. He had started trying to plant bugs in Steve’s room two weeks ago. Steve found his attempts hilarious and made a game of smashing the bugs in vaguely threatening ways at strange times, usually when Tony was absorbed in schematics in his workshop or at the breakfast table or on the roof or in a meeting or-- yeah, pretty much anywhere.)

“Holy God what have we done to this poor, innocent man,” Tony blurted out on autopilot, stopping in his tracks as his eyes drifted down and stayed there. “Oh my God. Turn around, I need to see this. For science.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I really doubt that,” he said, but complied by turning toward the fridge. “We got any of that fancy curry from last night left?”

“In the pot on the second shelf,” Natasha told him helpfully.

“Thanks,” replied Steve. He grabbed the pot and a spoon from the drying mat on the counter and sat down. Tony made a noise of disappointment and slumped over to the counter to grab the coffee.

“Why is my coffeepot empty, Clinton Franklin Barton,” Tony growled, drawing himself up to his tallest height, which was admittedly not very tall. (It was, however, taller than Bruce was he was Bruce-shaped, as Tony liked to point out. This was not as comforting when Bruce was on the other side of the country doing science for SHIELD.)

“It’s _Francis_ ,” chorused Clint, Natasha, and unexpectedly, Coulson, who was not supposed to be in Avengers Tower without an invitation and probably a security guard. (Tony maybe possibly still had some _issues_ over not being told that Agent was alive for three damn years. He was holding a grudge with Fury, too. It was steadily turning out that people at SHIELD faked their death with an alarming regularity, the absolute _bastards_. What was the plan, make ‘em care about you and then ‘ _die_ ’? Now Tony would have to see a body to believe an agent was dead, and maybe not even then, according to rumors about Coulson’s survival.)

“What’s going on, Phil?” Steve asked, stirring his pot absently.

“Just some paperwork for you, Captain. You’ll be done in no time.” He smiled amiably and lifted the tablet in his hand to bring it to Steve’s attention. “I’m afraid it has to be done as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” said Steve, and went to wash his hands. Coulson’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“You can sit down,” Tony said generously, and Phil dropped into a chair as if his strings had been cut.

“How did that happen?” he asked, with a sense of false calm. Coulson’s Bland Face™ looked remarkably poleaxed for all that his expression hadn’t moved a muscle.

“If you mean me letting you sit,” said Tony, “I think it’s a fair dispensation for someone who was just confronted by all of… _that_. If you mean… _that_ …then I will freely admit that I have no idea. Anyone know? Or is this another thing we don’t ask about, like that thing with the bananas and the Vaseline and the cyborg?”

Natasha shrugged and Clint shook his head dolefully. Coulson gaped, almost tempted to inquire into this other story.

“I wish I knew,” Clint mourned, staring at his cereal. “This is the best thing to happen to me this month.”

“Are those pants comfortable on your body?” Coulson asked Steve, and inwardly cursed his marvelous propensity for sticking his foot in his mouth around Captain America. It was like his very own superpower: supernaturally awkward fanboying.

“They’re not as tight as the costume I had while fighting aliens and Loki that one time, so I think I’m good,” Steve said with a faint smirk, barely glancing up from the tablet he was scanning through.

“Ah,” managed Phil, who had designed that costume Steve had that one time, and that was the last of his questions.

Steve handed the tablet back only a few minutes later. Everything was marked as completed, so Coulson rushed out, “I’ll let you get back to your breakfast,” and fled.

Steve may or may not have caused three minor traffic accidents on the walk to his favorite park; he didn’t look back to check on the louder-than-normal beeping.

He got a call as soon as he got to what he mentally referred to as his bench. It was from Sam, as the obnoxious cawing ringtone indicated, and he sat before answering.

“Hey, Sam.”

“What’s this I hear about your booty being particularly show-stopping today?” Sam asked, clearly laughing his heart out.

Steve groaned and slumped down on the bench. “Natasha texted you.”

“Of course she did! We’re bros, me and her. Now, you gonna take a picture for me or am I going to have to fly up there to take a look for myself?”

“Sam!” Steve hissed in admonishment. He glanced around furtively and ducked in on himself as he lowered his voice. “I’m not taking dirty pictures for you. I’m in public!”

There was a choked sound from behind him somewhere. Steve flushed and did his best to ignore it. He hoped he hadn’t been recognized as Captain America, especially since he’d clearly been heard, but that was probably a futile hope.

“I don’t mean naked! The whole point is to see your ass in those yoga pants you’ve got on,” Sam protested. “I could see your naked ass any day of the week.”

“Like hell you could,” Steve grinned. “This ass has standards.”

This time the noise was a loud snort. Well, he was glad his eavesdropper was enjoying Steve’s _private_ conversation.

“I am the highest standard,” the Falcon informed him primly, then broke character to say, “Now come on, let me see that ass.”

Steve coughed to cover a laugh. “Well, if you insist,” he said, and stood up to snap a quick picture of his backside before plopping right back down again. The picture was a little blurry, but it would do the job, he decided, and sent it.

From the other end, there was a whoop, then a pause, then a slow wolf-whistle.

“Not bad, Rogers,” said Sam appreciatively. “I think I feel my psychic powers coming on now. I…I sense something!”

“What is it, you big faker,” replied Steve, laughing helplessly.

“You’re going to be a meme by the end of the day,” Sam announced in his best mystic voice. “Captain Assmerica. No, I’ve got it! _American Booty_.”

“You’re a terrible person.”

Sam was still cackling at his own joke when Steve hung up on him.

“American Booty, huh?” an evilly delighted voice said right by his ear. Steve jumped about a mile in the air.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” he swore, hand to his heart. “You coulda given me a heart attack, you jerk! You scared the shit outta me!”

Bucky Barnes gave his chest a dismissive glance. “You’re fine, other than a bad case of being a giant ham. That, I’ll just have to suffer through.”

“ _You’ll_ have to suffer through,” Steve repeated, amused.

“Yeah, you heard me,” Bucky said, eyebrows raised. “Got any objections to that, punk?”

Steve snorted and said innocently, “No, sir, no objections here.”

Bucky nodded decisively. “Got that right. So, what is this American Booty stuff all about, and why are you trying to send Sam nudies in a public park?”

Steve felt his blush return. “I’m not trying to do anything like that, Bucky. It’s just everyone’s so excited today about what kind of pants I’m wearing. I don’t really understand it, but people are weird sometimes.”

Bucky frowned at him. “This I gotta see,” he said and gestured at him with the metal arm fluidly. “Go on, give us a twirl, Rogers, I haven’t got all day.”

Steve obeyed, somewhat concerned now that his face and ears would be stained permanently red. He stood there uncomfortably for a few minutes before Bucky made any sounds.

“Huh,” was what he said. “All right, yeah, that’s a pretty nice view. No, don’t sit down yet,” he ordered when Steve made to sit down. “I’m still appreciating. How about picking up that litter over there? It’s for the good of the environment, I’m very dedicated to the environment.”

“I highly doubt that,” Steve muttered, but picked up the trash anyway, feeling Bucky’s gaze burning on him as he bent over.

“Mmm,” Bucky hummed with a wicked smile. “You have to admit, the pants flatter you. Not doing you any favors in the ankle department, of course, but I’ve always said they’re your worst feature--” He was forced to stop talking then by the leaves suddenly shoved into his mouth, and the spluttering which ensued.

“You shut up about my ankles, jerk,” Steve told him, “or I’ll start on that weird thing you do with your knees and your walk when you’ve got an enemy at your mercy. You look like you’re trying to be John Wayne or something, it’s silly.”

“I look like a _badass_ , is what you mean,” Bucky corrected, leaning back comfortably and spreading his arms across the back of the bench.

“Keep on telling yourself that, Buck, I’m sure no one will tell you differently to your face.”

Bucky pointed a finger right up in his face in emphasis. “I have heard from many sources, some even to my face, that my prowl is both sexy and mysterious.”

“You’re so full of shit your eyes are brown,” Steve lied, grinning. “Only thing mysterious about you is the mystery of why your hair is so damn long and raggedy-looking.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows at Steve playfully. “Oh, so you don’t object to the sexy part?”

“You’re about as sexy as my _ass_ , jerk, don’t get any ideas,” Steve shot back automatically and then blushed wildly again as Bucky fell off the bench cracking up.

“So I’m the sexiest thing here, is what you’re saying!” crowed Bucky, pumping his left fist jubilantly and nearly blinding Steve with the sun’s reflection off his arm.

“Besides,” Bucky said after a long pause to let Steve’s poor red face recover its normal shade. “Long hair is in now.”

“Who’s the fucking liar who told you that?”

“Everyone but you, punk.”

“Whatever you say, Bucky,” Steve humored him in a distinctly mocking singsong. Bucky didn’t bother to glare as he pinched Steve’s ribs absently.

“I know I’m not blessed with your incredible rack or that ass, other than the blessing of being able to look at them, but my hair works for me,” Bucky persisted.

Steve groaned, heartfelt, and collapsed onto the bench, which shook at the combined weight of two super-soldiers but bore up bravely against its load. “You’re still stuck on this?” he said, with the slightest whine in his voice.

“I’m not stuck on anything! I’m just sayin’, everyone else thinks my hair looks groovy.”

“I’m ninety-seven years old and even I know that nobody says groovy anymore, Buck.”

“Fuck off, Rogers, and tell me I’m pretty,” Bucky demanded.

Steve smirked. “Can’t do both at once, sweetheart,” he pointed out, and then continued hurriedly before Bucky could smack him for it. “You’re the fairest of them all, Bucky Barnes.” He pasted onto his face the most sincere winning smile he could muster. (It was pretty damn charming, according to Bucky, but one never knew when he was being an asshole. It was kind of his natural state of being, and also one of Steve’s favorite things about him.)

“I don’t think the man who was _actually_ asleep for a hundred years has any room to make fun,” Bucky murmured innocently, gazing idly at the clouds above.

“ _Seventy_ ,” Steve stressed. “Just seventy. Bucky, stop laughing.” He didn’t. Steve stepped on his foot in vengeance.

“Holy fucking mother of Mary Christ,” said Bucky. Steve let a noise which could, hypothetically, be defined as a giggle.

“Pretty sure that’s not her name, Buck,” Steve told him with a smirk audible even to the man massaging at the top of his Chucks with both hands, flesh and metal.

“What the fuck kind of shoes do you _wear_ ,” Bucky gritted out, eyes stabbing daggers at Steve’s visible anklebone.

“Sensible ones,” remarked Steve. “Unlike some people.” He threw a significant glance at Bucky’s feet before raising his eyebrows at Bucky challengingly.

“I cannot _believe_ \--” Bucky started, and then cut himself off, deciding instead to tackle Steve off the bench in a great burst of momentum.

Steve no longer cared about any potential onlookers; he would have his revenge. They wrestled for a few moments before Steve got the superior position. He grabbed Bucky’s hair to keep his head still and reached for a handful of leaves (to stuff down his shirt this time; he wasn’t _really_ obsessed with sticking things in Bucky’s mouth, no matter what Natasha suggested) when he suddenly froze as he realized Bucky had gotten a handful of, uh, something else.

“Bucky,” mentioned Steve carefully, “is that your hand on my ass?”

Bucky squeezed his handful, a devilish smile painted across his face. “Wow! You know what, it does _indeed_ seem to be my hand. Huh, fancy that.”

Helplessly, Steve said, “Oh my God, Bucky, we’re in public.”

“We were in public before, when you thought it was okay to roll around on the ground with me,” Bucky pointed out, not letting go.

“We were wrestling! That was for vengeance! This is… _not_ vengeance, this is sexual!”

“Well, not yet,” Bucky felt obligated to point out. “It could be, though. You got a thing for exhibitionism? I sure wouldn’t mind.”

Steve made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “I’m thinking I would. Mind, I mean, not be into exhibitionism. Also, that was a terrible line and I’m ashamed of you for using it.”

“Which line?” asked Bucky.

“Any of them. All of them. I’m ashamed that you think lines would work on me now--”

“You ain’t exactly playing hard to get, usually, Rogers,” Bucky replied dubiously. Steve shot him a look.

“ _I’m ashamed that you think lines would work on me now_ ,” he repeated, then went on to say, “when we could just go home. And then you wouldn’t need any lines.”

“Ohhh,” Bucky realized. “Okay. I like that idea, let’s do that.”

Steve made to get up, then gave Bucky an exasperated look when his hand tightened.

“Just enjoying the perks at hand,” Bucky said earnestly, and squeezed again when Steve groaned at the pun. “You wanna get up, you give me a kiss. That’s the toll here for going on Bucky Bridge. One kiss and you can go.”

“You’re ridiculous,” said Steve fondly, and smacked a quick kiss onto Bucky’s puckered lips. “There. Lemme up, I want to go home.”

“Race you?” Bucky quirked his eyebrows at him as they stood and shook some of the looser leaves off their clothing.

“Sure,” Steve agreed. “Readyset _go_ ,” he said, and took off without looking back, just as he had when they were kids.

Bucky laughed, shouted, “Cheater!” after him, and started running.

There were definitely pictures of Captain America's shapely rear on the internet that week, but most found the pictures of Steve Rogers kissing his boyfriend, childhood best friend and comic book sidekick Bucky Barnes, more exciting.

(Bucky was almost as furious with the sidekick comment as Steve was when he saw the headline 'American Booty / American Psycho, Kissing in Park.' Someone introduced him to the newest Fall Out Boy album before anyone was physically hurt, but Steve still wrote a scathing letter to to the blog who wrote it. His letter and his ass both trended for three weeks, until Chris Pine's newest movie came out. The most popular hashtags over those three weeks, other than #captainassmerica, #captainSASSmerica, and #AmericanBooty, were #shieldingbuckybarnes, which was Steve's favorite, and #CaptainAmericaGrammarNazi, which was Tony’s favorite until he saw a _suspiciously familiar_ Twitter handle getting peeved at people for using the term ‘Nazi’ lightly, at which point he was utterly enraged. Bucky's favorite was #captainSASSmerica, which wasn't _entirely_ because he was the one who had started that hashtag four months ago.)

And thus, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, and his magnificent American Booty, all lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lexiconallie.tumblr.com)!
> 
> PS, I added an imaginary Chris Pine movie because Chris^4 in the Marvel Universe amuses me immensely.


End file.
